


Watching Through My Fingers

by silhouettestormer



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Cute, Developing Relationship, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Guns, Kidnapping, Murder, Oblivious Spencer Reid, Past Relationship(s), Strong Female Characters, You know what you're getting into, it's criminal minds so, other canon criminal minds stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-01-07 04:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18403190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silhouettestormer/pseuds/silhouettestormer
Summary: Avyn Kendall is not ordinary in the slightest. She has advanced degrees in ten subjects, which she acquired in four years, and a rather quirky personality. Not many people could understand such a unique person as Avyn, not even her mother, despite her efforts, can. But a series of events that occur in the early winter of 2009 lead to Avyn being recruited by the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. This brings Avyn to finally discover solace in a person similar to her: Doctor Spencer Reid. Little does Avyn know that Spencer too has found something unexpected in the person new in his life.





	1. Prologue

"You're different," the man whispered softly. His voice was a calm and beautiful cadence with his words being an infinite promise, not an opinion or a plain statement. He was telling me a fact that I would have to grow up with. "You're wonderfully different."

"Really?" I asked. I stared at him, my eyes wide and full of question.

"Of course you are. You're amazing, sweetheart. You always have been and you always will be."

I smirked and glanced around the white room. A clock on the far wall was ticking, its red hand telling me how many seconds were passing by. The bed I was sitting on was comfortable to an extent, but my father had to deal with it all of the time. I reached a small hand out and wrapped my fingers around my father's. The sadness in his eyes made a frown appear on my face, but it was replaced with a smile when he spoke.

"I love you so much."

"I love you too." I tightened my grip on his hand. "Are you going to be okay, Daddy?" I muttered.

But I already knew his answer; I had asked the same question nearly every day.

"I'm going to be fine. The doctors are doing the best they can." I said the last part with him, "Each day they're getting closer to a cure."

I nodded. "I wish they would just find it already, though."

"Me too, sweetheart. But I'll be fine. I'm pushing through. They say I'm a fighter."

"I know, but you could d--"

"Don't go there, not yet. Not yet." He let out a cough and swallowed. "I'm all right."

I touched his cheek where it was flushed a rosy red with the back of my free hand. Then I moved it to his forehead. He felt immensely warm to the touch. Dangerously so. That was when I noticed his squinting eyes.

"You have a fever, and your photosensitivity is acting up."

"Listen to me, I am fine," he insisted.

"Stop lying. I'm sick of it," I spat harshly, removing my hands from him. "I'll get the nurse."

I hauled myself off of the bed and took only one step when he grabbed my slender wrist.

"Don't. It'll go away in a moment."

"Daddy, me worrying isn't anything terrible," I said.

"I know." He coughed again.

"Let me get the nurse. Please. Before something worse happens."

I spoke too soon as his body suddenly became rigid and his limbs started to thrash: a seizure. I rushed out to the corridor, shouting, "Nurse! Nurse! Help!"

A blonde woman in a white and blue uniform came sprinting down the hall with two other nurses trailing behind her. I immediately stepped out of the way for the trio to make their way to my father. I entered the room after them, always hating leaving him for too long.

The blonde nurse was cradling the man's head and a male nurse was holding a needle filled with a clear liquid that was almost certainly a sedative.

"Come here, sweetheart," the other female nurse, a tall woman with a young face, said, taking my hand and leading me back to the corridor. "You shouldn't be seeing him like this. You know that."

I nodded. "I know."

The nurse, Delilah, patted the top of my head and gave the best reassuring smile she could manage. "So strong for only being eight. And I've seen how smart you are."

I chuckled. "Daddy says I'm special."

"Well," Delilah began, kneeling before me with her green eyes gazing into my blue ones, "he's got that right. You're very special. You will do great things one of these days. You, my dear, are going to change the world."

I beamed brightly. That was the nicest thing anyone had said to me before, aside from my parents. "How am I gonna change the world?"

"Oh, I'm not sure yet. You might invent something or maybe save people. Ooh, what about curing diseases? Maybe you'll be the one to save your father."

I giggled. "I'm not sure about that; it's pretty unlikely."

She nodded, noticeably biting the inside of her cheek. "Well, nothing's impossible."

I began to open my mouth to retort, but Delilah held up an index finger, saying, "Uh-uh, smarty-pants. Nothing's impossible, believe it or not."

I smirked, lips stretching out to reveal most of my teeth, including the gap between a canine and second incisor.

"You're not only smart and strong. Do you know what else you are?"

I shook my head. "What else am I?"

"You are gorgeous. You'll make such a beautiful woman one of these days."

I simply shook my head again as I directed my eyes downward and my cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.

"You are."

"How? My conditions--"

"Hey, hey, now. You are very, _very_ pretty. Just because you have things that make you different doesn't mean you aren't. They don't even affect you _that_ much, you know. They make you even more beautiful."

"Thank you, Delilah."

"No problem, kiddo. Anyway, how do you think your dad's doing? Better or worse than yesterday?"

"I'd say worse. I think his mind is starting to go. He's being unusually stubborn."

She chuckled. "It's a side-effect of being ill."

I glanced over the nurse's shoulder to see the other two nurses leave the hospital room my father was in. I walked around them and into the room in order to be back with him as soon as I possibly could. He stared up at me with drowsy, half-lidded eyes that still shined a sapphire blue. He reached out and managed to brush his fingers against mine. I got his message and held onto his hand as tightly as I could without cutting off either of our circulations.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to last much longer. I feel it," he said, nearly slurring his words together.

"Daddy, it's just the sedation talking. Get some rest and we'll speak when you wake."

"Okay. Okay, we'll speak when I wake up. I love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too," I whispered, kissing his knuckles to only let his hand go and sit in the nearest chair. I made myself as comfortable as possible and read from one of the books in the pile underneath the chair.

An hour later or so was when I heard the EKG flat-lining. I jumped from my seat and called for the nurses again. They instantly flooded in and I saw the blonde nurse doing chest compressions on my father. Delilah opened the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and pulled out a syringe. She quickly removed the cap and injected the fluid into my father's veins. The EKG went back to beeping in sinus rhythm, causing the three nurses to let out simultaneous sighs of relief.

Then they glanced at me. I felt my lower lip quiver fiercely and my eyes became flooded with tears. I spun on my heel and ran as fast as I could down the corridor to the restrooms. I went in and locked myself inside a stall to cry in a sense of peace.

I put the lid of the toilet down and sat on it. I sobbed into my hands as they became damp with tears. My father was on the verge of dying, and there was nothing they could have done to save him if the hydroxychloroquine didn't work correctly to ease the lupus. It was terrible and eye-opening all at once. He was almost gone.

_Gone forever._

I wept for him, for almost losing him. As I allowed the tears to fall, I began to crack my knuckles one at a time, a nervous habit of mine since before I could remember. I proceeded pressing on the joints of my fingers and crying until I heard a faint knocking on the stall door.

"Honey," it was Delilah's voice beckoning me through the crack between the bright blue panels.

"I'm fine."

"You're not. We both know that. Hey, do you mind telling me why you're upset?"

"I don't want to."

"Come on. . . You should be happy he's alive."

"I know that. It was just so close. I nearly lost him."

"Like I said, your dad's a fighter."

"I know." She chuckled. "Come on, come out. You can still stay with him."

I stood up and unlocked the stall door. I exited and Delilah took my tiny hand in hers. She led me out of the restroom and back to my father's room where I sat at his bedside. I was still crying, but I was completely silent.

After a while. I heard a knocking sound on the wooden doorway. I glanced up to be met with the sight of a tall woman with copper hair and crystalline blue eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I asked softly. "I told you I wanted alone time with him."

"Have you been here all weekend?" she questioned, taking a few steps into the room, an unspoken announcement that she didn't want to leave just yet.

"If you have to ask, then you didn't notice I ran away when I did."

I averted my eyes from hers as her stare begged me to open up. She always knew I was closer to my father than I was with her. Dad and I, we were both intelligent, scholarly, studious. She was free-spirited, creative, a dreamer, yet so was I. I just enjoyed speaking about constellations and the human genome and literature. She didn't understand us as much as we understood another.

"I noticed last night. You didn't come downstairs to watch _Jeopardy!_ ," she said with a smile and a glint in her left eye.

I chuckled half-heartedly. "I suppose that would have been a big giveaway."

She nodded and dragged a chair beside mine, sitting herself in it. She wrapped her hand around mine gingerly, knowing how delicate I was now that the very thing we feared was actually happening: my father being hospitalised for his systemic lupus erythematosus and possibly dying. She ran her thumb over the topside of my hand in a soothing manner. It was so gentle that it was beginning to lull me to sleep, which I hadn't done since Thursday. I couldn't, not when something might happen to him.

"Mon cœur, he's going to be okay. I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep," I stated.

She leaned her head against mine before pecking my cheek. "I love you; I care about you."

"I love you too." I gave her hand a weak squeeze to emphasize.

"Sometimes I wonder, though."

"You're my mother. Of course I love you."

"But I'm not freakishly smart. I'm not like you or your dad. I don't know what you two know. I don't know what year _Fahrenheit 451_ was published."

"It was published in 1953," I answered. "Just in case you were wondering," I added quickly.

Her smile was a fluorescent light in the dreary hospital room. It was like a rainbow peeking through the dusty grey storm clouds. "He'll pull through. He's the strongest man I know," she murmured.

"He's the strongest man I know too."

She turned her head and gave my temple a feathery kiss. She was a nurturing person who I knew would do anything for me, but she would never be able to comprehend what I was like my father could. And that scared me.

As if she read my mind, she said, "Je vais vous comprendre un de ces jours, mon cœur."

_I will understand you one of these days, my heart._

"J'espère."

_I hope._

We sat together with my father while he rested. Her head was pressed to mine and her thumb was forever drawing circles and other shapes on my skin. We silently prayed that everything would end up okay.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion."---Alexander the Great

I hummed softly to the music flooding out of the speakers of my car. It was a song by REO Speedwagon, which reminded me of my mother and car rides with her blaring hairband music. My windshield wipers were on due to the sprinkling rain and my headlights were shining on the bumper of the car rolling in front of me. I had just finished work and was on the ride home. As much as I hated working on Saturdays and the exhaustion that came with it, I couldn't complain about the extra pay. Flipping on my turn-signal, I neared the curb that led to my apartment building before I veered into the lot and parked close to the door. I rushed inside of the building, trying my hardest to not get wet, to no avail.

I pushed the building's door open after I unlocked it with one of the many keys on my Calcifer keyring. I ran through the lobby to the stairs, giving the doorman a wave first. I walked up the steps two at a time until I got to the third floor. I went to apartment number twenty-seven and put another key into the lock. I turned it and pushed on the panel so I could enter. I let out a weighted sigh as I placed my satchel in my loveseat and slammed the door shut. I trudged into the kitchen, feeling half like a raised corpse. I flipped the light on and searched for something to eat.

"I need to go shopping," I muttered to myself after I looked in the fridge and cabinets to find nothing appealing. I groaned at the fact that I had planning on doing so yesterday, but like I often did, I became wrapped up in others things and forgot.

I spun away from my disappointing kitchen and headed to the bathroom down the corridor. I set up my music and managed to get it at the perfect volume. I exited the bathroom to go into my bedroom, which was just a door away in the same corridor, and took off my glasses, placing them on my nightstand, and my bracelet, putting it into its special case, before returning to the bathroom. I started the shower up and stripped myself of my clothing. I quickly hopped in and shivered at how cold it was. I turned the red knob until the water was finally warm. My apartment's plumbing wasn't the best, but for the price I was paying for rent, I felt like I shouldn't even think about complaining.

I was singing along with the melody of the music that the speaker was producing while I was washing my brunette hair. During the exceptionally loud bridge of the current song, I heard banging from somewhere near the entrance of my apartment. I was all alone in my little home, which always worried my mother. She was afraid I was going to get murdered one of these days, and now the feeling was mutual.

I finished my shower quickly and dried off in the same fast manner. After my hair was dry enough, I tossed on my undergarments and rushed into my bedroom. I pulled on a pair of black sweatpants to go along with a black tee shirt and a thin grey jacket. Then I placed my sleek black glasses back on my face.

I exited the bedroom and turned off the music in the bathroom before going into the sitting room to watch television. After the first episode of a  _Supernatural_ marathon ended, I reluctantly decided to head to bed so that I could get an early start in the morning. I was walking down the corridor when I heard a clanging sound to my right. My mind jumped to the noise I had heard earlier, knowing that they had to be connected. I had no weapons, save for my feet and hands, to protect myself if my suspicions were true.

"Who's there?" I called out.

Nobody responded.

_Yeah, a murderer or kidnapper is going to say they're there_ , I thought foolishly, rolling my eyes at my own stupidity.

I distinctly heard a footstep. That was enough evidence for me. I ran to my room, hearing footfalls behind me. I slammed the door closed and locked it. Someone began banging on it instantly.

I suppressed a shriek as I took my phone out and dialed 911. I was about to press the call button, but my fingers froze as the door gave way with splinters littering the carpet. A darkly clothed figure entered, a crowbar hanging from his right hand. He raised his weapon above his head. I put my hands up in defense, but he was much quicker than I was. He struck the side of my head and my vision turned black.

\- - - - -

"Four women have gone missing in the past two weeks. All of them have been found in ditches on the outskirts of St. Louis. All of them have been between the ages of thirty five and forty five. They all had blonde hair and green eyes. Another woman went missing two nights ago, Farrah Teach. She matches the victimology and her body has yet to show up," JJ explained, pressing a button on her remote to show a vibrant woman with dirty blonde hair and forest green eyes.

"He's sexually assaulted them. And he's restraining them with ropes," Prentiss added.

"The UnSub more than likely lost his wife or girlfriend. He's using these women to replace her," Spencer voiced. "And it says all four of the women died of malnutrition."

"He's not meaning to kill them," Derek commented softly.

"Or he's doing it slowly," Rossi countered.

"Either way, he has to be keeping them for at least three days before dehydration begins to affects them," Spencer said.

Hotch, who had been absent from the debriefing until now, burst through the door, causing everyone to look straight at him. He had his cell phone in his hand and a worried expression on his face.

"We have to leave now. Another woman's been taken," he said.

The team left Quantico on their plane, heading for St. Louis. On the plane, they finished the debriefing.

"Who's the other woman who was taken?" Spencer asked solemnly.

"Her name's Avyn Kendall. She's twenty four years old and. . .you can see for yourselves," JJ said as she placed a photograph she had pulled from the file she was holding onto the tabletop.

"She doesn't match the victimology. She has brown hair and her eyes are blue. And she wears glasses." Spencer paused. "The victimology's changed."

"The m.o. is still the same, though. He took her out of her home at night, forced entry. The St. Louis police believe it's the same guy," Hotch explained.

"But why would he suddenly change his victimology?" Prentiss questioned.

"Maybe he just got bored of blondes," Derek offered, trying his best to keep a joking tone out of his voice.

"Something could have triggered the change," Spencer said.

"Hopefully, we'll find out when we land in St. Louis," JJ stated.

They arrived at their destination two hours later. Hotch and JJ went to the police station while the other four went to the most recent victim's apartment, which afterward, they would split up and go to the coroner's office and Farrah Teach's home. The first thing to be noticed at Avyn Kendall's apartment was the splintered area on the doorframe.

"Looks like he used a crowbar to get in," Derek commented. "Same m.o. as the others."

They entered the apartment, being confronted with the small sitting room that had a brown cloth couch, a matching loveseat, a glass-topped coffee table, and a television set up on shelves that displayed a variety of faerie figurines and many different photographs. They walked through the room and further into the corridor to the right of the sitting room. They entered the second door on the right, which was the bedroom.

"Lots of posters," Prentiss said.

That was an understatement because the white drywall was practically painted in posters; a  _Harry Potter_ poster depicting the crest for the Ravenclaw house , a movie poster for a Japanese anime film called  _Howl's Moving Castle_ and another for one called  _Kiki's Delivery Service_ , another movie poster for the film  _Labyrinth_ , a Periodic Table of Elements, a replica of Da Vinci's  _Vitruvian Man_ , a poster of Led Zeppelin's  _Zoso_ 's back cover, a poster of David Bowie's iconic Aladdin Sane look, and a large watercolour painting of a Celtic girl dressed in animal furs while wielding a bow and arrow all adorned the bedroom walls.

Against the south wall was a queen-sized bed. It was drenched in blues: navy bedsheets, a royal blanket, and various blue-coloured pillows. To the left of the bed was a mahogany bedside table and across the room was a matching dresser with a small door next to it that led to a closet. If anyone had ever asked Avyn for a description of her personality, she would have just shown them her bedroom.

Derek's phone rang as the four browsed the room. He put the phone on speaker before answering with a signature, "What is it, baby girl?"

_"Okay, so this_ _Avyn_ _chick is a total genius. She's currently working as an. . .immunologist at a lab that just started up two years ago so her income isn't great. She has four doctorates and three masters. PhDs in English, astronomy, immunology, and psychology, and masters in Celtic language & literature, criminology, and folklore & mythology,"_ Garcia said through the speaker.

"Garcia, where did she go to school?" Spencer asked, looking over the wooden dresser.

_"She went to a small town high school. It says she wasn't allowed to skip grades or take advanced classes until she reached the right age for them. Completely harsh, I know. Her school had a_ very  _strict 'No Child Left Behind' policy that worked both ways. But she was able to graduate at age sixteen by taking two English and math classes her freshman and sophomore years. She attended Harvard. Four years for all of those degrees."_

"That's impossible."

She chuckled on the other end of the line.  _"Clearly, it isn't. She has an IQ that almost matches yours, Reid."_

"Wow, a woman with those kinds of expertise and intelligence," Prentiss stated before giving a short, low whistle.

_"I had the same thought. We should totally recruit her to the BAU. In her files, it says she trained to become an agent, but she dropped out at the last second because a job opened up at a medical lab. She was about to be accepted."_

"I, personally, wouldn't be against it. She seems like a very nice person," Rossi said, picking up a photograph of her with a tall man, his arm slung around her shoulders, from the bedside table.

_"Oh, she is. She volunteers a lot at the local hospitals in the immunology departments, for free might I add. She donates a ton of money to Greenpeace, International Medical Corps, and the World Wide Fund for Nature. I mean, she's struggling with rent, but her bank activity says she's sending ten dollars to the three of them every month."_

"Her father died when she was young, didn't he?" Spencer asked, a subtle change in the subject.

_"Yeah. She was eight. How did you know that?"_

"The only family photos featuring an older man are when she was young. Was it something medical? Possibly an autoimmune disease?"

_"Yeah. Ellis Kendall died of lupus in 1991. Now, really, how did you know that one?"_

"She studied immunology, which was triggered by losing a loved one to an autoimmune disease."

_"Ah, right. Boy Wonder is now Sherlock Holmes."_

"Her mother still alive?" Prentiss questioned.

_"Yeah. Risa Savreux-Kendall. Her residence is located across town. And before you ask, Avyn was an only child. Zero siblings."_

A pause lingered in the air while Garcia was typing furiously at her computer. Then she let out a gasp.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" Derek asked.

_"She was in and out of the hospital from ages four to eight. She visited her father pretty much every day while he was in the ICU. Her mother visited at least once a week,"_ Garcia explained.

"It must have been difficult for them," Prentiss voiced, "watching him die for four years."

"Horrible," Spencer murmured as he picked up a portrait photograph of the woman whose room he was in.

She was a beautiful young lady with shoulder-length oak wood hair that was lightly curled by nature. Her eyes were a bright shade of aquamarine, as if the shimmering gems were on the bottom of a crystal-clear ocean. But their beauty was encased by glasses that had thick lenses and sleek black frames. She was tall and thin, like a willow tree, and her smile was pure and enlightening. She was truly magnificent.

Spencer blinked a few times at himself while reeling thoughts spun through his brain faster than any statistical fact had. He set the framed photograph back down on top of the dresser and faced the group again. Prentiss and Rossi had moved to the bathroom and Derek and Spencer gradually followed.

"She had just finished taking a shower when he took her," Prentiss noted. "She's a very neat, organised person. This towel is out of place."

A white towel had been carelessly tossed to the tile-flooring of the bathroom, lying in a heap of cotton and water.

"She's more than organised," Spencer said inspecting the bathroom's vanity. "She's alphabetised everything. First, by the kind of product, then by the name of the scent. She has OCD."

"But not so much that it would turn her psychotic," Rossi added.

"Exactly. She keeps things perpendicular or parallel and all labels have to be facing out. And most of these products are all-natural or plant-based, all with very little chemicals. What were her parents' jobs, Garcia?"

_"Her father was a toxicologist and her mother is an artist and an art teacher at a local high school. Why?"_ she asked.

"Did he only do _in vitro_ research?"

_"Yeah."_

"That explains a lot. She's a humanitarian. She was raised that way."

"How'd you get that from that?" Derek questioned.

"Usually toxicologists use _in vivo_ methods, but that's actually animal testing, studies on organisms as a whole. Some do _in vitro_ , where cells are isolated and toxins are tested on them. Nothing is harmed during _in vitro_ research. And she donates to Greenpeace, IMC, and WWF." He nodded and gave one of his awkward smirks to top it off.

_"Sometimes you scare me,"_ Garcia muttered on the other line of the phone.

The others chuckled and they continued their search. After splitting up, the four ended up at the police station, trying to figure out who the UnSub could be. They narrowed it down to a thirty five through forty five year old white male who recently lost his wife or girlfriend either through a breakup or sudden death.

By that afternoon, Farrah Teach's body was recovered from a ditch just off of Lafayette Park. The team knew they had to hurry if they wanted to find Avyn alive.

 


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "With a new day comes new strength and new thoughts."---Eleanor Roosevelt

I woke up to pounding footsteps over my head. It was a heavy clunking sound that was muffled by carpet. The next thing I noticed were the ropes restraining my wrists and ankles that were just shy from cutting off my circulation. I was seated in the corner of a dark room with my legs to my chest and my hands resting on my knees. My skull was pounding with a headache, reminding me that I was knocked out earlier. Knocked out by getting hit with a crowbar, that is.

I glanced up and looked around, despite my eyesight being a little bleary after having been passed out. I was in a basement or bunker from what I could tell. The only light came from a light bulb dangling on a metal chain and there was a set of rickety wooden stairs leading to a poorly painted door. The floor, the walls, the ceiling, it was all made of a dull concrete the colour of slate, but there were support pillars made of wood.

Then I realised a strip of duct tape was over my mouth to keep me from screaming. I sighed through my nose and fell back against the wall behind me, knowing that there was absolutely nothing I could do. I was thoroughly tied up, with my mouth covered, and I was a mentally out of it due to the migraine I was having and the drowsiness that was still overtaking my body.

Mere moments after I awoke, the door opened and a man strolled down the steps. He was tall and thin and around forty years old. He was clean-cut with neat brown hair and jade green eyes that peered about like a pair of cat eyes. He reached the bottom of the stairs and looked at me with a proud sort of smile.

I kept my eyes averted from him as he proceeded to walk my way. When he reached me, he knelt down and touched my hair, mumbling the name Cicily.

"Will you promise to not make any noise if I take it off?" he asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.

I nodded rapidly, to which he took an edge of the silver tape and slowly pulled it off before he set it aside.

He grinned when I didn't open my mouth. "Good girl. . . You can speak; just don't yell. No-one would hear you down here anyway."

"Who's Cicily?" I asked.

He chuckled. "Silly, always playing games."

"What do you mean?" My eyebrows were furrowing from confusion. I may have been hit in the head pretty hard, but I knew I didn't have amnesia. All of my memories were fairly intact, especially the one telling me my name was Avyn Kendall. "Who is Cicily?"

"You're Cicily." He sighed with sadness and disappointment before saying, "It must be getting worse."

"I'm not Cicily. My name is Avyn."

He sighed again and touched the side of my face the way a parent would when comforting a sickly child, just how my mother did when I was in the hospital after being diagnosed with my condition.

"Do you think I'm your daughter?" I questioned, eyebrows furrowing even further.

"Of course I do. You're her. I thought you left me a few days ago, but then I saw you walking through the park and. . . I knew you were still here."

He smirked warmly, which suddenly made me feel a pinch of pity for this man.

"You mentioned it was worse. What's worse?"

"The cancer."

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "What kind?"

"Brain tumor. Right in the hippocampus. But you fought like hell, didn't you, Cic?"

I nodded. "Yeah, like hell."

He genuinely smiled and rose to his feet. "First, Karra left, then you. But I saw her a lot. It wasn't her any of the times. But it's you, _really_ you. I've only seen you once."

"Karra? Is she my. . .mother?"

"Yeah."

"How-- How did she leave?"

"You know that your mother died. Took too many sleeping pills. The doctors said it was suicide, but they lied. Just like how they lied about you dying. But I have you back." He chuckled. "It's a miracle."

"Since you have me back, why are you keeping me down here? Why do you have me tied up?"

"All of the ones I thought were your mother weren't her. I have to make sure it's really you before you can be untied. That okay, Cicily?"

I nodded timidly. "But do you think you could undo the rope on my ankles?"

"No!" he shouted. "I can't!"

I cringed away from the loud sound. Not sure how exactly to respond, I said softly, "I'm sorry."

"Damn right you're sorry!" His face was turning red with anger as he rose to his full stature. "Don't question my authority, Cic! I know what's good for you! I know how to take care of you!"

Then he turned and stormed up the wooden steps and through the door, the panel slamming to a close behind him.

I breathed heavily and rested my head against the wall behind me. He was mentally ill, which meant I couldn't rationally compromise with him nor truly convince him that I was his dead daughter.

"Poor guy, though," I murmured to myself.

All he wanted was for his wife and daughter to be alive. I couldn't blame him. I understood that feeling far too well for comfort. I wanted my father to be alive desperately. I had worked my whole life doing things that would have made him proud, to a fault. I had never wished him to be alive so badly that I would be driven to madness. I was still perfectly non-hallucinogenic. As far as I knew at least.

I sat there for a minute waiting to see if he would come back down, but he didn't. Softly, I hummed to myself "What Is and What Should Never Be" by Led Zeppelin, a song my father sang to me all of the time when he was alive. He may have been a nerdy scientist, but he loved his classic rock more than my mother loved her Van Gogh and Monet paintings.

I assumed the man wasn't coming back down anytime soon so I closed my eyes. I hoped that someone would find me before something bad happened.

\- - - - -

"He has to live in a ten mile radius of the dump sites," Spencer informed to the team, drawing a circle on the map that was pinned to the glass board.

The team had already come to the conclusion that, while the man was capable of carrying a dead body, none of the dump sites were close to homes but were by busy streets. A man carrying a dead body would be quite conspicuous. And Spencer figured that the UnSub drove an SUV or truck to carry the bodies and took them to the dump sites at night so it would appear he was having car troubles and he would toss the bodies like garbage. All of the dump sites were within a seven mile radius of each other, and Spencer took into account the neighbourhoods around them.

"The latest victim's mother is here," an officer stated before moving on to a different room.

"Who's going to talk to her?" Hotch asked. He had already dealt with one of Avyn's co-workers from the medical lab, and there were enough tears he had to deal with from the weepy girl.

"I will," Spencer and JJ said in unison.

"You can both talk to her. She's just across the hall."

Spencer and JJ walked in tandem to the room across the corridor. They entered and a woman was sitting at the wooden table. She had bright blue eyes, just like her daughter's, and she had long hair the same shade as copper with a few strands of silver to add to the metallic theme, and a fringe was hanging just above her left eye.

She wasn't crying, but she was clearly in a kind of distress: she was clutching her hands together to keep them from shaking. When the door closed, she looked up at the two young agents.

"Hello, I'm SSA Jennifer Jareau and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We're here to question you about your daughter's kidnapping," JJ said as she approached the woman with an outstretched hand.

"Yeah," she breathed, shaking JJ's hand. It was obvious to both JJ and Spencer that her voice had a hint of a French accent in it. "I'm Risa Savreux-Kendall, just in case no-one has mentioned my name yet."

JJ and Spencer pulled out two chairs and seated themselves at the table across from Risa.

"When was the last time you spoke to your daughter?" JJ asked Risa.

"Um, three days ago. She visited the school I work at. Sometimes she does that to talk to some of the classes. She was perfectly fine, nothing out of the ordinary. . . She seemed like herself."

The two agents nodded.

"Did you ever worry about your daughter living all alone in an apartment like that in the city?" Spencer asked.

"Of course. There isn't a minute that goes by that I don't worry about her. I tried to convince her to get a roommate, but she doesn't get along well with people who aren't at least a little bit like her."

"'Like her'?" JJ questioned.

"Yeah. They'd either have to be insanely smart or creative, or they would have to love books as much as her or be a science fanatic or. . . She's an incredibly passionate person, and she has a heart of gold, but she has to share her passions with someone in order to be happy being around them for long periods of time. Which doesn't happen often. . . She has a very close friend, but they were unable to live together."

"Ms. Kendall, do you know of anyone who could have kidnapped your daughter?"

"No. There's no-one I can think of who disliked her. Well. . ."

"What? What is it?" Spencer asked.

"When she came to visit me at the school, there was a man hanging around outside the campus. He was in an SUV across the street. I thought it was bizarre because people aren't supposed to be parked outside of the school unless it's a parent picking up a student. I know most of the students' parents, but I had never seen him before."

"What did he look like?"

"From what I could tell, he was tall, six foot or so. Maybe a little taller. He was thin. And he had dark hair. I couldn't see his eyes because he was wearing sunglasses. He had to be at least forty. Do you think he could have taken Avyn?"

"It's a possibility. And you said you had never seen him before?" JJ asked.

"Yeah."

"Do you know what kind of car it was?" Spencer enquired.

Risa nodded. "It was an SUV. It was black, maybe, and it was a GMC. . . Will this help you catch him and get Avyn?"

"It will definitely help," JJ said.

"Thank you for your time," Spencer added.

The two rose from their seats and exited, Risa not too far behind.

Spencer and JJ reentered the conference room where they had been working out of.

"Get Garcia on the phone," JJ demanded.

Derek whipped out his phone, dialing Garcia's number. The phone rang once before Garcia's voice answered with one of her usual nicknames for Derek.

"Garcia, search for men in their forties who live in a ten mile radius of the dump sites that drive a black GMC SUV," Spencer said.

_"On it."_

Rapid typing could be easily heard on the other line before Garcia exhaled.

_"Three men match."_

"Which one has had a wife or girlfriend leave him or die recently?" Prentiss asked.

_"Uh, one. Kenan Acwel. His wife committed suicide two weeks ago, took too many sleeping pills. His daughter died three days ago of a brain tumor. Police speculate that Karra, his wife, committed suicide because she couldn't handle the thought of losing her daughter to cancer."_

"That would explain the change in victimology. He started taking women that resembled his wife, then he took Avyn because she resembled his daughter," Rossi stated.

_"There's something else. He stabbed a co-worker the night his daughter was diagnosed with cancer. The charges were dropped because it was a pencil to the guy's thigh,_ and _he had a son die of luekemia a year ago. He said he understood the pain. So, yeah, that happened."_

"Sounds like he's on a psychotic break."

_"Oh, get this. His daughter, Cicily, never wore glasses. She's only ever worn contacts. The guy is making leaps and bounds to see his wife and daughter in other women."_

"He could be suffering from delusions or schizophrenia," Hotch breathed. "We need to get there fast. Garcia, what's his address?"

Garcia rattled off a number and most of the members left to head for it, along with many police officers trailing.

The sun was just beginning to set when the police and the members of the BAU arrived at the home. Hotch knocked on the door, gun in hand but lowered to below his waist.

"FBI, open the door!" he shouted.

They could hear footsteps, which were followed up with the first door opening. A short woman with straight blonde hair stood behind the screen door, her face in shock. She glanced at the intimidating man, then at the other three agents behind him. The bulletproof vests scared her even more so.

"Is this where Kenan Acwel lives?" Derek asked.

"N-- No. He, uh. . . He moved two weeks ago, right after his wife died," the small woman answered.

"Do you know where he's at now?"

"No. No, he. . . He just left. Is he in some kind of trouble?"

"He kidnapped and killed five women. He has another woman right now," Prentiss said.

"Oh, my God."

"Ma'am, do you have any idea where he might be?" Hotch questioned.

"No. I mean, he just. . .left. I have no clue."

"Well, thanks anyway," Spencer breathed.

The agents and the police officers headed back to the station. After being chastised by the sheriff for storming a poor, innocent woman's home, the BAU began doing more in-depth research on Kenan Acwel to figure out where he could be. After all, time was running out for Avyn.

 


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts."---Winston Churchill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things rev up a little bit in this chapter, so be prepared

The man was more unstable than I initially thought. I could hear him talking to himself through the ceiling of the basement. It was almost as if he were carrying out a conversation. He would speak in the kind, gentle voice he had used most of the time he had spoken to me, but then the tone would change like the flip of a switch. He would be angry and furious, his tone raging like a blazing fire. It reminded me of Sm è agol and Gollum. I just prayed that the Sm è agol part would take control of the Gollum part.

Two full days had passed since I was kidnapped. The man hadn't given me anything to eat or drink in that time, but I don't think he was meaning to starve me. He was mentally ill, so I figured that the thought of feeding me had yet to cross his mind. I was dehydrated and my stomach was growling periodically. I was weak and my mouth was so dry that my tongue felt like sandpaper. My stomach was hollow, and it was only going to get even more hollow with the passing time. I also hadn't taken my medication since the morning of the day that I was kidnapped. Nothing bad would happen from me missing my medicine a few days in a row, but more than a week without it and I was sure I'd be feeling ill. But that was the least of all my worries.

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and the man trodded down the steps. He saw me in my usual spot in the corner. Something unfamiliar was in his eyes, instantly making me wary of what it might mean.

"I've been looking at a photograph of Cicily, and I noticed something," the man said.

My blood ran cold. Because he was clearly disillusioned with reality, he only referred to me as Cicily or simply his daughter.

_He must have realised I wasn't her. He's going to kill me. . .or worse._

"She never had a scar on her neck."

The man knelt beside me and gingerly touched the small pale mark directly below my ear.

I almost whimpered in fear at the intimacy of the touch; I was afraid he was going to do something I could never recover from.

Then he clutched my throat in an iron grip. I gasped and thrashed under his grasp. I couldn't inhale or exhale; my oxygen supply was being completely cut off. I stared at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would release me. As I felt my body tingle and the edges of my vision go black, he let go of my trachea. I took a ginormous breath in and attempted to restore my breathing.

"You're not her. You are not my daughter."

The man slapped me across the face with his left hand. I winced and let out a yelp. I wanted to reach up to touch the throbbing flesh, but I couldn't due to the restraints on my wrists.

_So, he's left-handed._

"You aren't my daughter, are you?" the man seethed.

I shook my head. "I'm not." I quickly raised my bound fists in front of my face to defend myself from another hit. "Listen, you're delirious. Just let me go and I can get you some help. Please."

"Shut up, bitch!" he screamed. He grabbed my arms, forcing them to be lowered, before he slapped me once more.

I felt his wedding ring cut my lip that time. The iron taste of blood flooded my mouth and I could feel the fluid run down my chin. I spat onto the floor, which earned me another slap, but with his right hand instead.

_Correction: ambidextrous._

His face was turning red as he grabbed the rope that kept my hands together and yanked me upward to my feet, which were still bound together. I stumbled forward the moment he let go, then he punched me in the cheek, nearly knocking me down to the cement flooring. The only thing that kept me up was the wooden post I had fallen against.

"You look so much like her. Cicily had brown hair and blue eyes too. She had bad eyes, just like yours. But she. . . She's never worn glasses. I should have known. Should've known. . . You're an imposter. A liar!"

"Please, I'm not. I never told you I was Cicily. I never told you I was your daughter. Please." I nearly sobbed as the pain in my lip and cheekbone was becoming a searing kind of pain that unwillingly brought tears to my eyes. "Please, I'm not her. But I never said I was."

He backhanded me, and I crumpled to the floor.

"Lying bitch!" he screamed. "You agreed with me. You said you were her. You're a liar. A fucking liar. Just like the ones who pretended to be Karra!"

He swiftly kicked me in the stomach, causing me to yell out in pain. I curled my body to help ease the throe the best I could.

"Please," I begged. "Please, don't do this."

"Liar! Liar!"

He began kicking any part of my body he could reach. My stomach, my back, my legs, my arms. Once he had all of his rage out, he stood still and stared at me as he panted heavily. His eyes were alive with grief and sorrow.

"I'm sorry that I'm not her," I breathed.

Tears were still running down my face from the pain. It was nearly unbearable, but I did my best to hold on. I knew it could be only chance of surviving.

"Are you? Are you really? Or are you trying to make me let you go so you can get the cops?"

"Listen, please, just listen." I groaned, my face contorted from the stabbing pain I felt in my abdomen. From the dampness on my shirt, I knew his shoes had cut the skin just above my bellybutton. "I'm not Cicily because Cicily is dead. She had a brain tumor and passed away. She is gone for good. There is no bringing her back."

"Shut up!"

He didn't kick me. He simply reached down and pulled me to my feet by my arm, his hold tight enough to bruise. He shoved me against the wooden pillar and held me there, pinning me to it with a strong and hurting force.

"Please."

"Stop begging, bitch!"

In the blink of an eye, he pulled out a pocketknife and flipped the blade out. He held it to my throat and stared hungrily at me.

I heard a faint creak. It was so quiet that I almost didn't catch it. The man didn't acknowledge it, but I looked passed the man to the wooden stairs. A lanky and pale man with brown hair that was just shy of grazing his shoulders was stepping down them. He was wearing a bulletproof vest with "FBI" stitched into the front in bold white lettering. He was holding a handgun in front of him and it was cocked from what I could tell. He didn't look much like an agent, seeing as he didn't appear to have too much muscle. None of that mattered to me at all; he had a gun, was an agent, and was there to rescue me.

"Please," I said, my voice taking on a more cautious and warning tone. "You might get hurt if you go through with this. Your wife and daughter wouldn't want you to get hurt because you don't want help. Please, you have to listen to me."

As the FBI agent reached the concrete flooring, my captor's eyebrows furrowed, meaning his guard was let down. I thrust my joined hands into his gut, making him stagger backward. The FBI agent rushed forward and pushed the man to the ground. He swiftly and effectively disarmed the man of his pocketknife. The agent looked toward the open door.

"Morgan!" he yelled. "I've got him!"

Loud and thundering footfalls reached my ears as a tall man with a shaven head and brown skin who appeared buff ran down the steps. The skinny agent allowed the other one to cuff the man who had me hostage. The agent who saved me walked over to me. He first untied the rope around my ankles and then the rope around my wrists.

I was free and I could feel my body become heavy. I felt the world tipping as I nearly fell. The agent wrapped his arms around my waist as he lowered me to the floor along with him.

I felt drained, but the tears spilling from my eyes wouldn't stop. I would have been dead had it not been for this man.

"Thank you," I breathed as I sobbed into his shoulder. Even though my glasses were pushing into my nose, I still held my face to him.

"You're welcome," his voice answered with a soft and smooth sound.

"No, really. You saved my life."

"Well, you still need medical attention."

I laughed, then groaned from the motion causing pain in my ribs. "Yeah."

"Can you walk?"

"I can try."

"Come on."

The man helped me to my feet. I tried to take a step by myself, but I was too wobbly and unsteady. He put my arm around his neck while he put an arm of his own around my waist. He slowly guided me up the steps at a slow pace to make sure I didn't trip or fall.

"What's your name?" I asked, suddenly curious.

"Spencer Reid," he answered solemnly.

"That it? No 'agent'?"

"I am an agent, but technically, I'm a doctor."

I chuckled as much as I could without causing myself pain. "So am I."

The corners of his lips quirked upward.

When he finally got me outside, paramedics rushed over and placed me on a gurney before hauling me onto the ambulance. As I was being hooked up to IVs, I finally gave in to my fatigue and fell fast asleep.

 

_"'This doom she chose, foresaking the Blessed Realm, and putting aside all claim to kinship with those that dwell there; that thus whatever grief might lie in wait, the fates of Beren and L_ _úthien might be joined, and their paths lead together beyond the confines of the world. So it was that alone of the Eldalië she has died indeed, and left the world long ago. Yet in her choice the Two Kindreds have been joined; and she is the forerunner of many in whom the Eldar see yet, though all the world is changed, the likeness of_ _L_ _úthien the beloved, whom they have lost.'"_

_I smiled at my father. He closed the book he was holding and smiled back._ The Silmarillion _was still clutched between his tender hands, almost as if he didn't want to let go of the stories within the pages. I was lying under the covers of my small bed while my father was sitting on the edge, where he had just finished my favourite bedtime story: "Of Beren and_ _L_ _úthien."_

_"That's still my favourite story_ _, even though she dies," I said._

_He smirked. "I know."_

_His face quickly contorted as he began coughing._

_I patted his arm in a calming way. When he stopped coughing, he gave me a reassuring smile._

_"It's getting worse. . . Isn't it, Daddy?" I asked._

_"I'm afraid so, sweetheart."_

_"You're not going to the hospital, are you?"_

_"I might be. Let's just pray that if I do, it won't be anytime soon."_

_I nodded. "If you get sicker, promise you won't leave me."_

_"Leave you how?"_

_"You know. . .die. Please, Daddy, don't die."_

_He chuckled, but there was a film of tears over his eyes. "I'm not, sweetheart. I'm gonna stick around for a long time with you."_

_I giggled and grinned up at him. "Pinky promise?"_

_"Pinky promise."_

_He wrapped his large pinky around my tiny one. Then he pressed his thumb to my own. He laughed as we took our hands apart. He kissed my forehead._

_"I love you so much, Avyn. You know that, right?"_

_"'Forever and always,'" I quoted._

_He smiled proudly. "Yep. Forever and always I shall love you."_

_"And I you," I relayed._

_A soft knock on wood was emitted to our left. My father and I glanced over at the entrance to my bedroom. My mother, young and tall with hair as bright as copper, was standing in the doorway._

_"Come on in, Risa," my father told her. He was beaming at his wife._

_My mother walked in and sat down on the bed beside him._

_"You have some paint on your face, Mommy," I said, poking her cheek._

_"Do I? What colour is it?"_

_"I'm gonna guess. . .jade?"_

_She smirked and nodded. "Yeah. I'm painting a forest." Then she turned to my father. She kissed him on the cheek. "You need to take your medicine."_

_"I will. I'm not done saying good-night to my little angel yet."_

_"Ellis," my mother scolded._

_"I know." He coughed again, this one briefer than the last. "I will. I will, Risa."_

_"Yeah, you better," she joked._

_"Mommy, Daddy. . ." I said._

_They looked down at me, their eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed._

_"Why am I different from everyone else?" I finished, recalling the mean names one of the boys in town had shouted at me earlier in the day._

_My mother stared at my father. "This is all you."_

_He smirked and then glanced at me. "Well, you're different because you're smart and creative and inventive and imaginative. . . Well, all of those things make you who you are. And some people lack those things, even adults like myself. You're incredibly special for being only four years old. You're wonderfully different. And that's nothing to be ashamed of. It makes you amazing. It makes you unique. And no matter what people say, you're beautiful, inside and out. You're the best of your mother and me. Together, you're just about perfect. But never, ever get so arrogant that you think you_ are _perfect."_

_I nodded at his moving speech. "I love you, Daddy."_

_"I love you too, Avyn."_

_"I love you, Mommy."_

_"I love you too, Avyn."_

_"Good-night," my parents said in unison._

_They both gave me a kiss on the forehead, and they left my room, shutting the door. I closed my eyes and began to drift away to sleep, but not before my mother's voice reached my ears._

_"You handled that more beautifully than anyone ever could have, chéri."_

_In that moment, everything was perfect. More than perfect, actually. But I knew that not too much later, the perfection would be in shambles._

 


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The purpose of human life is to serve, and to show compassion and the will to help others."---Albert Schweitzer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long! I was busy with family stuff over the summer, and then the new school year started (and college can be hard, guys!), so I haven't had much free time. But I hope you all enjoy this!

Spencer was pacing the hallways of the hospital. He was worried about the woman he had saved. Avyn was her name, he remembered. She was fairly beaten up when he found her. He was actually quite surprised when she could almost walk on her own. And for some odd reason, he felt responsible for her. Maybe it was because she was a genius, just like him. Or maybe it was because he was the one that saved her from her kidnapper. Regardless, the concern that was flooding his system was inadmissible.

He had overheard a few of the medical doctors discussing her condition. She had lost a lot of blood, so much so that they feared she wouldn't be able to replace it fast enough based on the starvation and dehydration she went through and her "withstanding disease." Spencer had no idea what they were talking about, but he assumed it had to be confidential if they weren't going to address it by name. The doctors had decided to give her a blood transfusion just in case. She appeared to be healing faster as a result, which made Spencer less tense about Avyn's health.

However, he was also worried about the cuts and bruises she had. The right side of her lower lip was sliced fairly badly and her left cheekbone had a small cut in it. Her nose had been bleeding, and she had a deep cut in her abdomen from the UnSub's steel-toed boots. She had varying marks on her arms, legs, and torso to go with the prominent cuts.

A day had passed when Hotch asked to have two of his BAU agents stay at the hospital to overlook Avyn's condition. Spencer was the first to volunteer. Derek, keen as ever, offered to go as well. The two stood outside of the room up until Risa told them both that they could come inside.

Spencer and Derek sat down in the two chairs closest to the door, which were on the opposite side of Avyn's bed as Risa's.

"She's doing better," Risa said. "Her bruises have healed incredibly fast. I'm shocked." She chuckled. "My daughter's a hell of a fighter." She reached up and touched Avyn's ashen hand.

"She sure is," Derek agreed.

"The doctors are still afraid she won't make it. She has a bad history of being hospitalised. She was sick a lot as a child."

"And her father died in a hospital, didn't he?" Spencer asked.

"Yeah. He was a fighter too. That's what I'm so scared of. The fighters are usually the ones who waste away faster."

The two men just stared at Risa in sympathy.

"Sorry. Uh, would one of you mind doing something for me? I mean, for Avyn?" she questioned softly.

"No, we wouldn't mind," Derek said.

"Well, the police aren't allowing me to go to Avyn's apartment and there's something there that she's going to need when she wakes up."

"Sure. What is it?"

"Um, there's this rectangular box that's made out of soapstone. It's black and has an arrow carved into the top in white. It's probably on or in her nightstand," Risa explained.

"Yeah. I can go get that for her."

"Thank you so much. She'll probably be worried when she wakes up. At least this can provide some easement."

Derek nodded and got up, heading for the door.

"Oh, and Agent Morgan," Risa called. "Don't open the box, or else. . .she might just kill you."

Derek smirked and left.

The door closed ever-so-quietly behind him.

"So what's in that box?" Spencer asked Risa.

"Let's just say that my daughter has a very special heirloom from her father that's in that box."

Spencer furrowed his brows as thoughts and ideas rolled around in his mind as to what it could be.

"So, you're the agent who rescued my daughter?"

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that."

"Well, Doctor Reid, I could tell you were a smart and kind young man when you and Agent Jareau questioned me."

"Thank you."

"Are you like her?" Risa asked. "You're a doctor, but not a medical one. You look the part, so are you a genius?"

This was one of the few times it sounded like a genuine compliment. "Yeah. I have an IQ of one hundred eighty seven. And I have three PhDs and three bachelor degrees." He smiled, chuckling a little.

"That's impressive. I think Avyn's is one hundred eighty five, maybe higher. And she has--"

"I know. Four doctorates and three masters."

Risa just sort of gazed at him in questioning.

"Our technical analyst told us, and I have an eidetic memory."

"Hmm," Risa hummed. "Did you know she wanted to join the FBI as well?"

"Yes."

"It's a shame that she was going to be accepted and she took the immunology job at the lab instead. You should convince her to join your team. I'm sure she'd love it."

"She'd fit right in," Spencer added.

Risa laughed. "I'm sure she would, especially with you on the team."

He smiled and nodded. He didn't want to admit to himself that his cheeks were suddenly warmer from all of Risa's compliments.

Small-talk was shared between the two until Derek returned a few minutes later with a long black box in his hands. He passed it to Risa.

"Thank you so much. You didn't open it, did you?" she asked.

Derek laughed. "No, 'course not."

"Good." Then she laughed herself.

"You know, soapstone is actually mainly talc, making it one of the softest metamorphic rocks on the planet. It's used as an insulator for electrical and housing purposes. It's also used for many sculptures, even Christ the Redeemer's outer layers are soapstone. The Inuit used it for traditional carvings, and some Native American tribes made tools from it. Some people even put pieces of soapstone in the freezer and use them as replacements for ice cubes, calling them 'whiskey stones.'"

Derek just looked at the younger agent with endearing eyes and grinned. Risa simply stared at Spencer, then a smile began to surface on her face.

"Avyn does that too, rant and ramble about random things. I find it fairly entertaining," she told him.

He smirked and nodded.

"Great, all we need is another Reid on our hands," Derek said sarcastically.

Spencer mentally rolled his eyes.

"I don't think that's such a bad thing," Risa retorted, still looking at Spencer with an expression he could only interpret as some kind of affection.

_I remind her of Avyn,_ Spencer thought.

"She's taught me a lot through the years," Risa said softly. "Did you know that  _Fahrenheit 451_ was published in 1953?"

"Yeah." Spencer nodded.

"Of course _you_ would." She laughed, but there was sadness in her eyes as she clutched onto her daughter's hand like a lifeline. Spencer knew, from what Garcia told him, they were the only family they really had. She ran her thumb over the back of Avyn's cold hand, concerned.

Night slowly crept its way upon St. Louis and the hospital's lights were being turned off in the rooms and being dimmed in the corridors. Risa appeared immensely tired. One second her eyes would be nearly encased by her eyelids, then the next she would jolt and rub them.

"Ma'am, I think you need to head home and get some rest," Derek told her in his nicest voice.

"But what if she wakes up and I'm not here? She'd. . . She'd hate me."

"I doubt that."

"No, last time I was gone for a few minutes to get something to drink, and she woke up while I was gone. She was all alone, she was so scared. She was upset with me, but she said she understood. I just can't help but think history will repeat itself."

"Ms. Kendall--"

"Dear God. Just call me Risa." She chuckled.

Derek smirked. "Risa, your daughter will understand if she wakes up in the middle of the night and you aren't here. She would probably want you to get your rest."

"She. . ." Risa sighed, glancing at Avyn's slumbering form. Her eyes met Derek's again, running her hand over her face. "Yeah, you're right. You are  _completely_ right."

She rose to her feet and stretched her arms above her head and rolled her head about her neck, causing a few loud cracking noises.

"You look exhausted. How about I drive you?" Derek offered her.

"I was brought here in a police car; I was just about to ask."

The two left the hospital room and headed down to the parking garage. They left the door open only a crack, letting in a single stream of white light.

Spencer looked at Avyn and his mind went reeling. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen someone as beautiful as her. Despite him strongly believing that a person's beauty was found on the inside, he found her appearance simply mesmerizing, especially considering how beautiful she seemed to be internally too. He grabbed ahold of the arms of the chair he was seated in and moved closer to Avyn.

His dark hazel eyes observed her. Her own eyes were closed, but the muscles were twitching, showing she was in REM sleep. Her hair was splayed about her head. It reached her collarbone and it was in subtle waves and curls, something like tendrils of vines that were turned to the colour of a magnificent tree. Her skin was alabaster, but it didn't necessarily seem sickly. Her cheeks were flushed with colour, although they were currently a very light pink from her recent lack of nourishment.

Then he noticed the bruise on her face. It was located where the cut on her cheekbone had been. He, then, saw the yellow-coloured bruises on her arms that just nearly blended in with her skin tone. It was clear that she was healing at a normal rate. The cut on her lip was now pink and scabbed over, but it was healing, just like the rest of her injuries.

She was wearing black nail polish. It wasn't exactly messy, but he could tell it definitely wasn't done professionally. He smirked at the thought of her painting her nails all by herself while she was trying to read or watch a movie. When the team had been at her house, he had profiled her as a compulsive multi-tasker and knew that she wouldn't sit around just waiting for her nails to dry, especially if she had other things that needed to be done. When it came to multi-tasking, Spencer was the exact same way.

Spencer rose to his feet and grabbed the clipboard that was at the foot of the bed. He rapidly read the information that was printed on the pages. She had a sprained wrist and a fractured rib, but the rest of her injuries seemed to be contained to her skin. He felt relieved as he placed the clipboard back where it belonged. He made the decision that she was going to pull through and be all right. He smiled as he sat back down in the chair.

He just gazed at Avyn as she dreamed. It wasn't anything creepy, with no means of being as such. It was like watching a butterfly. She was delicate and beautiful. But it was obvious that a fighter was underneath her exterior.

He gazed at the soapstone box on the small table beside the bed. The arrow was beautiful and simplistic. It was probably carved by Risa herself. Then he was wondering what the hell could be inside of the box.

A few minutes passed as Spencer kept quiet, contemplating. Then Derek came back into the room. He had a book tucked under his arm and a cup of cherry Jell-O, plastic spoon included. He pulled his chair up next to Spencer's and handed the book.

" _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ ?" he asked, amused.

"It's the biggest book Risa had, and she told me you might want to read. . . You've read it before, haven't you?" Derek questioned.

"Yeah. But it's a really good book. I don't think I could ever get tired of  _Harry Potter_ ."

Derek smirked and nodded towards Avyn. "You looked at the doctors' reports, didn't you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Spencer answered as he opened the large book to the first page. He smirked ever-so-slightly. "She's gonna make it. Just a few scratches and bruises. Sprained wrist and fractured rib. She'll be fine, as long as the transfusion keeps up."

"Why'd she have a transfusion in the first place?"

Spencer flipped the page and looked over at his friend. "I heard the doctors talking--"

"You eavesdropped?"

"That's not the point, Morgan. They said she lost a lot of blood, considering she was dehydrated. They also said she had a 'withstanding disease.'"

"And it wasn't on the reports?"

"Not that I could find. None of her medical history is on the reports, just what's happened two days ago."

"What do you think it could be?"

"Something to do with her blood. Maybe anemia or something like that. Her father had lupus, maybe she inherited an autoimmune disease that attacks blood cells. That's the only thing I can figure."

"But why keep it a secret?"

"Maybe she just doesn't want anyone to know. Maybe she's self-conscious or doesn't want people to pity her because she's sick. Maybe she thinks people will misinterpret what her condition is and make it into something it's not."

"Maybe."

Derek ate more of his Jell-O before smiling. "Think she'll join the team?"

Spencer's eyes left the book again, but he didn't look at Derek, rather he stared at Avyn. "I hope so."

"Me too. Even if she'll be like you."

Spencer chuckled. "Yeah."

"She's gorgeous too," Derek commented.

Spencer felt his cheeks warm again. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Didn't-- I didn't notice."

Derek laughed. "You think she's beautiful, don't you?"

Spencer didn't answer him.

"That's all right, Reid. You're not as comfortable around the ladies as I am, especially the pretty ones."

"Her beauty is further than her appearance. She's a wonderful person, don't you think?"

"From what Garcia said, yeah. But we really don't know her yet."

 _I feel like I do_. "That's true, but I'm sure she is how she seems."

Derek paused for a moment before an evil smile graced his features. "She's more of a doctor than you."

Spencer closed the book and glowered at Derek. "Are you saying that because she has a medical degree or because she has one more doctorate than I do?"

"Both." Derek laughed and ate another spoonful of Jell-O.

"It's not a competition, you know?"

"Well, if it were, you would be a _loser_."

Spencer shook his head.

They were quite for a minute or two while Derek finished his Jell-O and Spencer read.

"You two'll be good friends," Derek stated. "Or at least Risa thinks so."

"I remind her of her daughter, so of course she thinks we'll be friends."

Derek smiled and glanced between his friend and the woman who was asleep on the hospital bed. He could already picture the two being very good friends, maybe even more than that with time.

 


	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are no strangers here; only friends you haven't met yet."---W. B. Yeats

I woke up slowly, like something beckoning me to rouse. As I came out of my dreams, I realised what was waking me were very faint beeping sounds that reminded me of crickets. I opened my eyes and let out a groan. My body ached all over, my muscles as heavy as lead. I rubbed my eyes, trying to rid them of sleep. Then I saw where I was, even with the blurred vision I had without my glasses. I was in a hospital bed in a hospital room. The sheets were white, the gown I was wearing was white, the walls were white, the lights in the corridors were white.

Wires and tubes were connected to me through electrodes and needles. The feeling brought back terrible memories. I reached down to remove the tape that kept an IV connected to me, but I decided against it, no matter how badly I wanted to just rip them out.

I looked to my left and there were two men in chairs that were fairly close to my bed, close enough that I could make out enough of their features to tell who they were. It was the agent who saved me and the agent who handcuffed my captor. The muscular man, Morgan, as I recalled, was asleep in his chair, head slumped backward. But the skinny one, Spencer Reid, was reading from a fairly large book. The blue cover told me it had to be  _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ . He was slightly cloaked in darkness, but the light spilling from the corridor gave him a haze of that of a halo. It enunciated his handsomeness, which I had been unable to focus on earlier. He had a sweetness to his appearance, something that screamed gentle and kind, and the book just added nerdy and studious to it. Overall, he looked simply angelic: an angel who saved my life.

"Doctor Spencer Reid?" I asked with a chuckle.

His eyes snapped up from his book, which he quickly closed.

"Y-- You're-- You're awake," he stated with a slight stutter.

"Yeah." I coughed, hoping to get the croaking sound out of my voice. "Rise and shine, I guess."

I glanced over at my other side and saw an empty chair. The window behind it was dark; it was still night time. I turned my head back to the agent.

"Where are my glasses?" I asked. "I'm kind of going half-blind here."

"Oh." He stood up and set the book aside. He picked up my pair of spectacles off of the table and held them out for me. "Here."

"Thanks," I said, slipping the frames over my face and securing the earpieces beneath my hair.

I reached down to my left wrist where the hospital bracelet was with my identification and blood type on it. That made me realise something.

"I need my bracelet," I mumbled half-coherently.

"What bracelet?"

"It's in a box. It's long and black with a white arrow on top. It's made of steatite. Er, soapstone."

"A bracelet's in this?" he asked, quickly holding up the box in question.

"Thank God."

I took the box and opened it. I pulled out the leather bracelet and put it on my right wrist, snapping the metal button. I exhaled slowly and held my right hand to my heart in the most intense kind of relief. My left fingers immediately began tracing over the engravings and stones of the bracelet out of sheer habit.

"What's so special about that bracelet?" Doctor Reid asked.

"Well, quite a bit, actually, Doctor Reid."

"Spencer," he said quickly. "You can call me Spencer."

"In that case, call me Avyn."

He smirked smoothly. His anxiety from earlier had begun to slip away. "What makes it so extraordinary, Avyn?"

"You see, this leather is what my grandfather used to call 'World War II leather.'" I chuckled faintly. "It's from the early 1940's. But you see these stones," I said, pointing at the three rounded and smoothed stones that were set an equal distance from another in a line on the band. "This one is for my paternal grandfather," I stated, directing to the first stone, which was made of amethyst. "This one is for my father." I, then, directed to the last stone, it being made of malachite. "And this one is for me." I pointed to the middle stone, which was labradorite.

"What's on those two?" Spencer asked, his fingers guiding my eyes to the outer two stones.

"My grandfather etched a double helix into his and my father etched the bio-hazard symbol into his. My grandfather was a geneticist right around the time genetics was becoming a thing, working in the field around the same time as Watson and Crick. After he fought in the War, of course. And my father followed crookedly in his footsteps by becoming a toxicologist."

Spencer smiled at my phrasing.

"My grandmother is the one who made the bracelet for him, but he's the one who put the double helix into the amethyst and passed it down to my father, who etched the bio-hazard symbol into his malachite. . . Am I boring you? When I tell people this story, their eyes usually glaze over."

"No, no. Not at all. I find it interesting. So, it's an heirloom, passed down from generation to generation?"

"Yeah. Until it runs out of room. I think maybe only four more stones can fit on it, at most."

"Why doesn't your stone have a symbol etched into it?"

I sighed maudlinly; I didn't like thinking about that exact question when it popped into my own head from time to time. "My grandfather studied genetics in Wales before being enlisted into the War. When it ended, he came to America, met my grandmother, fell in love, had a son, and worked as a geneticist through all that time. It was practically his life. My father went to Harvard for toxicology and then worked in a lab in Chicago, met my mother, fell in love, had me, and worked as a toxicologist since he was twenty two up until his death. It was practically _his_ life. I went to Harvard for," I said, before counting each subject with my fingers, "English, immunology, astronomy, psychology, criminology, Celtic languages & literature, and folklore & mythology. I have been working as an immunologist in a lab for two years. Prior to that, I was a bookbinder. I haven't really been working like either of them and I decided not to etch anything until I find a career I'm one hundred percent passionate about, just like how they were."

Spencer looked impressed, but his eyebrows were still furrowed. "That seems reasonable. But you aren't passionate about being an immunologist?"

"I was. It just doesn't feel right anymore. I was actually going to turn in my notice next week, but then I got kidnapped." I let out a half-hearted chuckle. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I _love_ immunology. I have since I was thirteen years old. At the lab, it's just--"

"Not the right job for you," Spencer finished for me.

"Exactly. I feel like the lab is. . .not where I belong. Even around like-minded people, I still feel like an outsider."

"I understand that."

"I think it's because I'm not as concentrated on the project as my fellow scientists are. . . Do you know anything about the lab I work at?"

"Not really. No."

"Well, it was a start-up company a little over two years ago. It's completely _in vitro_ research, which is why I joined in the first place. There are about thirty of us, five to each department. There's toxicology, immunology, genetics, pathology, virology, and neurology. The founders of the lab are a brother and sister and have been searching for cures to multiple diseases and disorders. The five of us in the immunology department have been working on arthritis for about a year." I laughed and Spencer joined in. "Do you know how boring it is to study arthritis?" I exclaimed.

"Can't imagine."

"Well, as you _can_ imagine, I've been getting bored with it. Three of the four others are nose-to-the-grindstone kind of people and are quite-- what's the word? --exuberant about the project."

"And the other?"

"He is a dork who just graduated from Missouri State two years ago and needed a job. He's good at what he does, but he's bored with the project as well. . . You know, I just realised something."

"What is it?"

"I haven't formally introduced myself. Hello, I am Avyn Kendall."

I held my hand out to him, even with the wires and tubes dangling from my arm.

"Spencer Reid. It's a pleasure to meet you."

He almost looked reluctant, but he shook my hand anyway and I smiled at him.

"The feeling is mutual."

He smiled back. "You know, I don't usually shake people's hands. So many germs are passed through the contact."

"I could see the hesitation. But we're in a hospital. That's why you shook my hand, yeah? The sanitary environment?"

"Yeah." He smirked.

I nodded. "I can understand. I avoid waterfountains at all costs. A girl in my seventh grade class was ill with mononucleosis for a month, which she contracted from a waterfountain. Haven't drank from one since."

He smiled in a way that it seemed like he was finally interacting with his own species. But I couldn't blame him because I felt that way too. And maybe, in some way, we were interacting with our own species for the very first time.

"I, uh, noticed you were reading  _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ ," I observed.

"I was. Your mother actually lent it to me."

I grinned. "She's a kind woman. And she doesn't care much for reading, trust me. But when it comes to  _Harry Potter_ , it's something else. That's her favourite book, so I'm surprised she let you borrow it."

Spencer nodded. "Which one is your favourite?"

" _Deathly Hallows_ or  _Order of the Phoenix._ You?"

"Probably  _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_ . Even though there is an immense amount of death throughout the entire novel, I see it as a nicely rounded ending to the series." As he spoke, he made a couple small gestures with his hands, reminding me much of the ones I made every once in a while.

I smiled. "That's what I told my mother when she threw a fit about the epilogue. She found it a bit anticlimactic. But I'd rather that than a cliffhanger."

He simply grinned back.

"I love  _Order of the Phoenix_ because it introduces my favourite character," I stated.

"Luna Lovegood?"

"Most definitely. She's such a dreamer, and she couldn't care less what anyone else thinks of her so long as she's happy. I find her quite the inspiration."

"I, personally, like Remus Lupin. He's scholarly and intellectual, but he also has a hint of mischief. And he's something that makes him an outcast, and no-one really understands him."

"Nymphadora Tonks does."

"Not completely. She doesn't know what it's like to be a werewolf."

"Are you hinting something at me?"

"Well, I'm a genius and no-one I know  _really_ understands what that's like."

"I feel the exact same way, Spencer. I don't know exactly how much you know about me, but I do have four doctorates and three masters. I'm a total nerd and my entire life I've been called 'the smart one.' Is that pretty much the ballpark of who you are?"

He nodded.

"Then someone you know understands what it's like."

Spencer just stared at me, smiling. I stared back into his deep hazel eyes. I didn't normally like making eye contact with others, especially practical strangers, but there was something about Spencer, almost a closeness I felt toward him, that made me more comfortable. I still couldn't hold his gaze for long, though.

"You're not like other agents, are you?" I asked.

"You're not like other immunologists, are you?" he retorted.

"That would be a no for the both of you," a voice said.

I looked over, tearing my eyes from Spencer's. The other agent had woken up and was rubbing the side of his head before standing up.

"Good to see you're awake," he said to me.

"Thanks. I'm Avyn Kendall," I told him, holding out my hand.

"SSA Derek Morgan." He quickly shook my hand.

"So, you two have been watching over me all night?" I asked.

"And the majority of yesterday," Agent Morgan added. "And you can call me Derek, Doctor Kendall."

"Avyn," I corrected.

Derek chequed his watch and glanced out of the window. I followed his eyes. The sun was beginning to light up the skyline with its golden rays.

"I should probably call Hotch and tell him she's awake," Derek informed Spencer before stepping out of the room, yawning as he went.

"Where's my mother?" I asked, suddenly realising her absence.

"Morgan took her home to get some sleep. She was about to pass out earlier. She refused to leave, but we convinced her."

I smiled and nodded. "I'm surprised. Last time was different."

"She mentioned that. What were you hospitalised for?"

_When I was diagnosed._

"Uh, I was fatigued and dizzy. They ran some blood tests. Something was wrong so they kept me overnight."

"What was it?"

"Despite us being of the same intellect, we're not quite close enough for me to open up like that."

He nodded.

"Uh, I don't want to be rude or anything, but would you mind getting something for me to eat?"

"No, I wouldn't. What do you want?"

"I don't care, just nothing spicy."

"Got it. I'll be right back."

He left the room as well, leaving the door ajar only enough for a small crack.

I smirked and rested my head against the pillow. It lolled to my left and my eyes landed on the EKG. The green mountains and valleys and quiet chirps alerted everyone that I was still breathing. The heart rate was slightly elevated, but not so much so that it could be hazardous to my health.

Then I could easily re-imagine the machine flatlining, reminding me of the five times that had happened to my father. He had died five times, but was only revived for four of those times. The fifth time it happened, I was hoping the nurses would bring him back as they had before. A small part of me had told me that he was going to be fine, as usual. When he wasn't, I was beyond devastated. It took more than Delilah and my mother to console me.

Spencer and Derek reentered the room, Derek slipping his phone into his pocket and Spencer holding a bag of classic potato chips. The light in the room came back on, making it official that it was daylight. Spencer handed the bag to me.

"Thanks." I opened the bag and began eating. "God, I am starving. I haven't eaten since. . . What's today?"

"Friday," Spencer answered.

"It's been almost a week!" I exclaimed.

"Technically, five days. Since today just started and you were taken late at night on Saturday."

"Still, five days is quite a long time. Will I be able to leave today?"

"You'd have to talk to a doctor about that."

"I thought I was already talking to one," I teased, giving him a cheeky smirk.

He beamed. "You know what I mean."

"Oh, so a medical doctor, then?" I paused before saying, "Avyn, can I leave? _Oh, sure you can._ There, I said I can leave."

Derek and Spencer sniggered.

"I'm not kidding. I feel fine. I mean, I know my wrist is sprained and I have a fractured rib. I'm fairly sure I can leave today."

"No offense, Doctor," Morgan said, "but you aren't an _actual_ medical doctor."

"I studied immunology, mind you, at the country's best university for medicine. And I have an IQ that more than likely exceeds yours by double digits." As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt bad, but Derek's expression eased that feeling.

Derek scoffed, but he also appeared amused by my passion and defensiveness, which I had in spades. Spencer appeared unable to keep a smile from emerging on his lips. He seemed to like my fire as well.

"Get that smug look off your face, kid," Derek spat.

"Sorry," Spencer apologised, but he was still smirking.

"If one of you could be nice enough to talk to one of the doctors who took care of me, that would be lovely," I said. "If you want confirmation on when I can leave."

Derek instantly left and I grinned.

I gazed over to my left; my heart rate was still faster than usual.

"Do you think this is strange? My beats per minute?" I asked randomly, pointing at the EKG.

"One hundred and six beats per minute. Do you know what your resting rate usually is?"

"Yeah. Seventy three."

"That is strange. Do you know what could cause this?"

I coughed from a sudden tickle in my throat. "I suppose it could be my anxiety. I have situational and social anxiety. I  _did_ just meet two strange men."

"'Strange'?" he asked. He didn't sound offended, not in the slightest. He actually looked happy.

"Yeah. One's really imposing and the other is. . .interesting."

"You don't find most men interesting?"

"Depends if they can tell the difference between Lord Alfred Tennyson and David Tennant."

"You like David Tennant? You're kidding."

"Nope. Not even a little bit. He's my favourite Doctor thus far. And I liked him as Barty Crouch Jr. I genuinely think he nailed the part. He's a very talented actor."

I smirked and Spencer chuckled, as if he was agreeing with everything I just said.

I heard a knock on the door and a tall man with dark hair entered. He was wearing a neatly iron-pressed suit.

"Hello," he said to me. He turned his head to Spencer."Reid, can we have a moment?"

Spencer nodded and left.

"Uh, hi," I breathed as I set the small bag of potato chips on the bed beside me.

"Miss Kendall, I'm Aaron Hotchner." He stuck his hand out.

I sniggered. "I'm Avyn, and please, call me that." I shook his hand and he stood at my side.

"I was hoping I could talk to you about something, Avyn."

"What is it, sir?"

"My BAU team is very intrigued by you. We were hoping, since you have already went through training and everything required for the job, that you would like to join our team."

I stared at him, eyes as wide as saucers. "What?"

"We would like for you to join the BAU. Your degrees in psychology and criminology make you perfect for the team. Also, there is the fact of your other talents."

I smirked. "You mean my medical degree, sir?"

"Uh, yeah, I mean your medical degree, among the others. It's impressive. _You're_ impressive."

"Thank you," I said.

"I know that this is very sudden, but my team would like to know as soon as possible if you would consider joining the team."

"Um, are Derek and Spencer on this team?" I asked.

"Yes, as well as myself and four others."

I nodded. "I won't consider it."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm saying yes now."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading this so far! Please, let me know what you think! :)


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